


The Way

by ccwonder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, F/F, M/M, Parent Winchesters (Supernatural), Romance, Slow Burn, parent destiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 14:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16914699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccwonder/pseuds/ccwonder
Summary: The path to salvation is never easy.[Rewrite of previous story 'Continuity']





	1. Introduction

"Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it."  
\-- Proverbs 22:6

[Rewrite of my previously completed story, Continuity. There will be SIGNIFICANT plot changes/all around story alterations, so if you'd like to read Continuity feel free; it won't spoil too much of The Way]


	2. Chapter 1

Falling is a gradual process for an angel. Like any human might deny a terminal illness, an angel will often refuse to admit they’re falling until their wings have become skeletal figures upon their backs and their grace is no more. Only when they may no longer fly, when they have exhausted their efforts attempting to repent for their sins, only then will they accept that they belong to Heaven no more. Some lead mortal lives, others find a way out of their sorrows. Most, however, will wander the Earth for all of eternity, wailing and lost, in search of a God whose back is turned.

It was the way of the fall and Castiel had long since accepted he would fall for his sins.

He wasn’t sure when he’d accepted that the fall was coming but when time flickered, then stopped in the midst of battle he was not surprised. The Winchester’s and their hunter friends were caught in the slow crawl of a paused time stream, surrounded by an onslaught of demons. Castiel made a point to finish off his own attacker before turning to locate the source of the slowed time-stream.

It wasn’t a preferable time for a chat, but then again Joshua had never been known for his timing.

“Brother,”

Joshua’s vessel was that of a man once called Hank. Hank was endowed with dark skin and graying hair, his hands rough after so long tending the Garden. His eyes were light and playful, a direct contrast to his grim expression.

“Brother,” Castiel returns the greeting.

“I see I have approached you at an inconvenient time,” Joshua’s eyes roam the still world and Castiel shrugs, sparing a glance at the bloody blade in his grasp.  
“We were ambushed,” Castiel informs his superior out of compulsion, wiping his blade on the arm of his coat.

“Demons never fail to surprise us,” Joshua’s commentary is dry, hands buried in pockets as he watches Castiel. The lesser angel stares at the blood smeared over his sleeve for a moment before meeting his superiors gaze.

“I mean no disrespect, Joshua, but if you have come then it is to initiate my fall and the visit is not appreciated.”

“Not many would accept such a message with a blade in hand.” Joshua eyes the weapon distastefully but Castiel doesn’t set it down; though the world was frozen around him, he was still in the midst of battle.

“I do not often let fate run its course.” Castiel admits, “However, there are exceptions. Even I cannot prevent certain… Inconveniences on my path.”

“You believe falling is your fate?” Joshua arches a peppered brow, the motion so human of an angel it’s unsettling— it reminds Castiel of himself, of the mannerisms of the Winchester brothers which he had unknowingly incorporated into his behaviors over the years.

“I have sinned in Father’s eyes, but I won’t repent for that which I do not regret.” Castiel wishes they could skip the debates and he could get back to the fight; there’s a demon inches from Dean and Castiel is resisting every urge to lunge.

“You have sinned with good intention, Castiel. Delivering your punishment pains me.”

“It’s no fault of yours, brother,” Castiel promises, taking a cautious step forward. Would it hurt? Would he feel his feathers falling away; his grace, already stressed, bleeding into nothing?

“You are not meant to fall, Castiel.” Joshua extends a hand and Castiel places his own hand in his brother's grip. “He has told me your path will be different, so different it will be.”  
Castiel nearly snatches his hand away in shock; his fingers twitch with the effort of restraint.

“Father has spoken to you?” Castiel asks quietly. Joshua closes Castiel’s hand between both of his; the interaction was tender, like a father comforting his son. Odd that it should come from Joshua.

“It is the first time in years that He has broken His silence,” Joshua nods.

“If He doesn’t want me to fall… What punishment does he intend for me?”

Joshua’s hands grow heated where they hold Castiel’s and the lesser angel feels an emotion – too long spent with humans, too much influence on part of the Winchester’s – similar to panic begin to bubble in his gut when Joshua doesn’t speak.

Heat rips through Castiel suddenly, his grace igniting and rising like an angry tide within him; it presses against the inside of his vessel, trying to break free of its limits and explode in a flurry of light and sound. Castiel convulses, Joshua’s hands around his own seemingly the only thing keeping him tethered to the Earth.

“Joshua.” Castiel chokes, knees digging into gravel as he slowly folds in the wake of the pain.

“Castiel,” Joshua’s hands constrict around his own and Castiel gasps, his vessel giving way to the press of grace. The world around him roars back to life, the full swing of battle carrying on around them. Castiel lies folded in the midst of it all, grace pouring from every orifice. He’s struggling to keep it in, to control the force within him for lack of desire to harm the hunters in proximity of him.

Joshua’s words float to him from somewhere far away.

“May God help you.”

Despite his best efforts, the world around him explodes.


	3. Chapter 2

Castiel is floating.

He isn’t sure where he is but he feels weightless here, blissfully unaware of the world outside his cocoon of darkness. His thoughts are sluggish but it doesn’t take him long to recall that he’s fainted. The realization came with consequences though, and as anxiety is reintroduced to his mind it baits consciousness closer and closer until Castiel can no longer linger content in emptiness, but is instead vaguely aware of voices.

With the sound of voices comes a painful awareness of his vessel. He can feel the throb of his heartbeat throughout his entire body, ribs creaking and groaning like a living thing with each breath. The angel isn’t sure what to make of the sensations. He was always aware of his vessel, but it’s never… Ached, before.

“Cas!”

The voice sounds muffled, like Castiel is hearing it through water, but it grabs his attention. He knows that voice like he knows his own, would respond to its cry from galaxies away if he had to. He tries to open his eyes, but something damp and sticky blurs his vision and he instinctually closes them again.

“Cas,” There are suddenly hands on him, touching first his shoulders then pressing against his chest, earning a pained sound of protest from the angel. “Holy shit, he’s alive,”

He can hear two people exhale in relief, and there’s a beat of hesitation before something scratchy is being wiped over his face. He inhales sharply at the sudden sensation, but when it retreats he finds that he’s finally able to open his eyes. He’s greeted with the sight of Sam crouched over him, a wadded flannel in hand; it’s stained with blood. Castiel blinks at him slowly, rotating his gaze to find Dean on the opposite side of his body. The older hunter has the lapels of Castiel’s coat in a white-knuckled grip and the veins in his neck are dangerously close to the surface.

“Dean,” He finally rasps, and both brothers seem to deflate a bit at the sound of his voice. Dean’s grip noticeably loosens and Sam rocks back on his heels. There’s a heartbeat in which the brothers share a relieved glance before Dean is suddenly jabbing a finger into Castiel’s chest and demanding, 

“What the hell, man?”

“I am not sure,” Castiel admits weakly, struggling to sit up; his vessel doesn’t want to comply with the order, but luckily Sam is there to help him into a sitting position. Dean shifts a bit where he’s kneeling on the ground beside Cas, hands fluttering as if to help before falling without purpose to his sides.

“You’re not sure?” Dean demands once the angel is sitting up. “You set off a freaking angelic atom bomb and the best you can come up with is ‘I’m not sure?’”

Castiel frowns, glancing around him; Dean was right – it looks like a significant explosion had rocked the surrounding forest. As far as Castiel can see, the trees have been blown down, and the demons they’d been fighting are now nothing more than scattered bodies. The scene reminds Castiel of the day he raised Dean from perdition, only this time the hunter was nowhere near the catatonic shell he had been. As the angel looks around he notices the three local hunters they’d been working with standing a few yards away, all three throwing cautious looks over their shoulders as Sam presses the bloodied flannel into Castiel’s hands and urges him to wipe his face with it.

“Joshua irritated my grace,” Castiel braces his elbows against his thighs, bending in on himself and pressing his face into the ruined shirt Sam had offered. He takes slow breaths through the material the best he can, cataloging every ache and pain and carefully filtering through the new information as Dean huffs a questioning sound at his side.

“As in angel Joshua?” Castiel hears more so than sees the risen eyebrow in Dean’s question and he nods, finally withdrawing from the material and ignoring the rust-colored stains on its surface. The younger Winchester takes it from him without comment, knees popping as he rises and moves towards the Impala a few feet away; all the windows have been shattered. Castiel feels a sharp pang of guilt.

“When did you see him?” Dean is still interrogating him, but the barely tempered frustration has fallen from his voice and Castiel meets his gaze. Dean looks away too fast.  
“He approached me during the battle,” Castiel informs his hunter, motioning to the dead demonic vessels which Sam is now helping the other hunters pile up in the clearing. “You were not aware of the interruption; he was manipulating the natural order of time.”

“What did he want?” Dean’s voice is all business. 

“I assumed he had come to initiate my fall,” Castiel massages his temples as he speaks. His skull is throbbing, a sensation he’s only ever experienced when angel-radio was overcrowded.

“Your fall?” Dean blinks, then, reaching for Castiel, adds, “Headache?”

“Yes,” Castiel nods to both, and Dean presses gentle fingers to Castiel’s forehead just above his left brow. His fingertips dance across the skin light as a breeze but he withdraws the touch so quickly that Castiel questions if he might have imagined it. Dean shows him bloody fingertips, as if trying to explain himself, but doesn’t comment on his actions.

“When you say fall, do you mean…”

“Yes,” Castiel answers the unspoken question, and Dean meets his gaze. Castiel can see his own bloodied reflection in the hunter’s hazel stare. “My descent into humanity.”

“You mean he was basically here to give you the boot into humanity?” The set of Dean’s mouth expresses his displeasure with the idea. “Why the explosion, then?”

“I suppose you could call it a defense mechanism,” Castiel sighs, cradling his throbbing head in his hands and closing his eyes. 

“Pretty impressive grace-karate you’ve got there,” Dean compliments, and when Castiel doesn’t respond he hears Dean moving. Seconds later, there’s a warm pressure against his side; a quick peek reveals that Dean is sitting beside him now, his head dipped low to meet the level of Castiel’s where he’s cradled it in his hands. He’s watching Cas from under long lashes, and Castiel aches in a new kind of way as the hunter asks, “You gonna be okay?”

“I’m not human yet,” Castiel answers, forcing a smile on Dean’s behalf. 

“Human or not,” Dean’s smile echoes his own in its forced foundations, but his voice is softer than Castiel has ever heard it. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We always do,” 

Dean reaches out, touches his jaw. This time, the sensation lingers because Dean allows it to. No one is watching them, Castiel thinks, and they live in this quiet state of contact for several heartbeats before Dean retreats. Clearing his throat, he glances around and makes his way to his feet, offering a hand to the angel on the ground; he’s careful to grip Dean’s forearm rather than his palm as he pulls himself up. They don’t look at each other once he’s on his feet.

It’s been this way between them for a few weeks, ever since Arkansas.

It was a run of the mill werewolf attack, or so the brothers had thought. Turns out, it was a Wendigo mimicking a local pack of werewolves, a fact they had found out the hard way. Castiel had been away, keeping his distance since his and Dean’s return from Purgatory, trying to allow the hunter to settle back into the world. The angel hadn’t even known the case had gone south until Dean and Sam’s panicked prayers had drifted to him in the early hours of the morning, Sam’s loud and Dean’s faint. It took Castiel some time to wrap up what he was doing - stupid, stupid that waste of time had been. As was his ritual, Castiel answered Dean first; it was nothing personal against Sam, simply that Castiel’s sense of duty correlated more strongly with Dean.

When Castiel had arrived, he had been met with carnage. Sam was nowhere to be seen, Dean lying in a pool of his own blood on the forest floor as the Wendigo hurried to disembowel him. Disposing of the creature was quick business and it was only a matter of seconds between Castiel’s arrival and when he was able to kneel beside Dean and tend to the injuries. The hunter was wrecked, but Castiel was determined and eventually, Dean’s body began to look like a body again. All the while, the hunter’s shaking hands stayed clasped like vices around Castiel’s closest arm. When the angel felt confident that his work was finished, he helped Dean to his feet only to find the hunter was still shaking.

“I thought for sure you weren’t coming,” Dean had said, and Castiel hadn’t known how to respond to the accusation. He hadn’t needed to, though, because Dean had surprised him with a hug; it was the first time they had ever hugged when good manners didn’t dictate it, and Castiel can still remember the way Dean shook in his arms. They had stayed that way for a while until Sam’s prayers became too persistent and Castiel was forced to take Dean to his brother.

Ever since Arkansas, things had been… Tactile. Dean was more prone to touching him, and Castiel caught his gaze more frequently than before. They hadn’t spoken about the incident - hadn’t spoken about much outside of cases, honestly - but something in their dynamic had shifted, and Castiel was struggling to understand what.

“Dean?” Sam, seeing they’ve finally risen from the dirt, approaches them. “We should go before the feds show up or something,” 

“Yeah,” Dean nods firmly, his voice growing gruff once more. “I’ll get everyone rounded up,” He marches off in the direction of the clique of hunters where they’re gathered around the flaming pile of bodies, and Sam stops a few feet from Castiel. They both watch Dean go.

“How are you feeling?” Sam wonders after a moment. Castiel considers the question.

The world around him was a blur of activity and sound, his stomach churning, and every movement of his body ached. His grace was a ball of activity within him, twisting itself into uneasy knots and fluttering about like a caged bird. All of this, he catalogs in under a second.

“I’m fine,” He delivers the customary Winchester response with ease. He can tell Sam doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t say as much out loud. Dean and the other hunters part, the older Winchester moving back towards them while the others climb into their vehicle and drive away.

“They’re gonna keep an eye out for any more activity in the next few weeks, but we think it’s taken care of,” Dean informs Sam, glancing between the two of them. “So we’re off the hook.”

“Well, actually,” Sam whips his phone out of his pocket, holding it out. “I was doing some research this morning, and I think we might have a case in--”

“Sammy,” Dean holds up a hand to halt his brother. “Man, just… Let me have tonight, okay? One night to shower off, rest… Then we can pick up the next case, okay?”

Sam nods, returning his phone to his pocket.

“Cas,” Dean glances at the angel, “Need a ride?” 

“Perhaps that would be a good idea,” Castiel considers his churning grace, “Yes.”

Dean breaks into a grin, turning and motioning them both towards the Impala-- and if he’s upset at the sight of the shattered windows, he does his best to hide it from Castiel.


	4. Chapter 3

Castiel abhorred human methods of transport. The speed of travel was sickeningly slow and the ache to fly was presenting itself physically, causing him to shift restlessly in his seat. The brothers, of course, were oblivious to his silent plight. Castiel watches them in the reflection of the rear-view mirror. Sam is focused on his phone, but Dean is fiddling with the stereo, trading out the Metallica cassette for something new by a band Castiel didn’t recognize. The older hunter sings along obnoxiously loud and hopelessly off-key, his thumbs tapping out the pattern of the drums on the steering wheel. Despite Sam’s annoyed expression, Castiel decides he likes Dean’s singing; it was strangely endearing, watching the hunter wailing along with the music.

Dean spares a glance over his shoulder and Castiel realizes he’s been caught staring. He looks quickly to his left, out what should have been a window but thanks to his earlier grace-explosion was nothing more than an empty metal frame. He can feel eyes linger on him a moment as the wind whips across his face with stinging strength, but they return quickly to the road. Castiel releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding but doesn’t dare turn back to the interior of the cab. Instead, he rests his head against the window-frame and watches the road snake by beneath them.

In little over an hour, they had managed to cover only eighty miles. The sun is dipping below the horizon and there’s nothing but crop fields as far as the eye can see. It makes Castiel restless; he could have circled the globe in three minutes and forty-two seconds if he was flying.

Uncomfortable, the angel drags a hand through his hair. He can feel each individual fiber pass between his fingers, the rush of wind from the missing window following their path. His skin is still crawling from earlier, every atom vibrating on a frequency unlike any Castiel has experienced in his eons of living. He’s used to the buzz of his grace filling his vessel with static electricity, but this… This is different, like someone is holding a live wire to the very center of his being. 

Castiel is so busy inspecting the new sensations within his vessel that he nearly misses the subtle snapping sound of wings over the wind.

His watchdog instincts kick in and he issues a gruff “Dean,” at the same moment he retrieves his angel blade from the inside pocket of his coat. In almost the same moment, a body drops down in the seat beside him and Castiel braces himself against the back of the driver's seat as Dean slams on the breaks, sending the Impala into a skidding stop in the center of the highway. Castiel’s blade is against the neck of the new occupant of the cab before the car has even reached a complete stop, his hand fisted in the stranger's coat sleeve.

“Hello to you, too, little brother.”

Gabriel raises his head to avoid a nick on the chin from Castiel’s blade, hands slowly rising in a motion of surrender. He arches one golden brow, eyes flickering from Castiel’s blade to his face. Something akin to affection flutters in Castiel’s chest.

“It is not wise to drop in unannounced,” Castiel scolds his brother. He lowers his weapon but doesn’t put it away just yet. Gabriel visibly relaxes, hands dropping to the leather seat at his sides.

“Well, you don’t exactly have an open channel,” The archangel says, emphasizing his point with a flick to Castiel’s temple before leaning forward, grinning at the humans in the front seat. “Boys. How goes the Anti-Apocalypse club?”

“You’re supposed to be dead.” Sam blanches. He’s twisted awkwardly in his seat to stare at the archangel, and Castiel can’t quite read the look on his face but it’s not the look he would have imagined. Sam looks almost… Relieved. 

“I’m supposed to be a lot of things, big boy.” Gabriel winks, reaching out to ruffle Sam’s hair before turning Dean. “Why so quiet, Dean-O?”

Dean says nothing, jaw ticking as he narrows his eyes at Gabriel.

“Ok-ay,” Gabriel glances between Dean and Castiel a moment before leaning back in his seat. “While you work on the whole ‘silent and brooding’ thing, I’m gonna steal Cassie here away for a quick family meeting,”

Dean chokes out a sound of objection, turning in his seat to grab a hold of Gabriel, but his fingers have barely brushed the archangels arm before Gabriel’s wings snap open and he drags Castiel from the car.

The take off is messy, Castiel’s weight de-stabilizing his brother’s flight pattern but there’s barely a second from when they left the car to when Castiel’s wings spread on instinct, catching the air between powerful feathers and righting their scattered path. Gabriel releases him, and they fly in a tandem despite Gabriel’s obvious superiority; Castiel knows his brother is going to slow to keep pace with him. Gabriel directs them to a suburban street and they land carefully out of sight. 

“Finland?” It’s less of a question and more of a statement. Gabriel’s hair is wind-blown and he pats it down as he leads Castiel through the streets, nodding.

“Finland.” The archangel confirms, burying his hands in his pockets.

It’s nearing two in the morning, a stark difference to the setting sun where Castiel had been with the Winchesters a moment ago. The moon is a quiet presence over their heads, and there’s not a soul in sight. 

“I am happy to see you are alive and healthy, Gabriel,” Castiel glances at his brother as they walk. “But why come out of hiding now?”

Gabriel chuckles softly, so very natural in his human behaviors; the way he scratches at his stubbled jaw and avoids eye-contact, it was entirely conceivable to think he was a normal human being if one didn’t know him. It was no surprise he was able to hide as long as he had.

“Seems every time I’m trying to lay low, you go and shoot yourself in the foot.” Gabriel stops in front of a small yellow-painted house, opening the door and motioning Castiel inside.  
“I have not… Shot myself,” Castiel frowns as he moves in through the open door, waiting for Gabriel to follow him.

“Not literally,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I mean that you’ve got yourself in one hell of a pickle, and I can’t expect the Winchesters to look after you,”

“Sam and Dean do not need to look after me,” Castiel shoots Gabriel a dark look as the pair ascended a set of stairs, arriving in a cozy living room.

Though small, the room is decorated to look spacious; plenty of mirrors and rich colors. There’s a kitchenette in the far corner, and Gabriel rushes to attend to a pot of boiling liquid as Castiel eyes the space.

“You’ve been hiding in Finland?” Castiel back-tracks, figuring starting from the beginning might be easier.

“Not my usual hustle-and-bustle scene, little brother,” Gabriel shrugs as he carries the still-boiling water to the sink and drains it into a strange plastic container with holes in the bottom. “Everyone’s looking for me either in the big cities, or the middle of nowhere; so I settled for something in between.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Castiel nods, lowering himself into one of the plush leather chairs in the room; the cushions give way under his weight, and he leans into their embrace. The sensation of flight had settled the over-stimulated sensation within his vessel, but the longer he sits still he can feel it creeping back in.

“Exactly,” Gabriel jerks a spoon in Castiel’s direction before using it to scrape the last remnants of what appears to be pasta out of the now empty bowl. “There is no better way to outsmart angels than with human behavior,”

Castiel settles in, watching as Gabriel dumps a pile of pasta on a plate and dribbles some white-sauce on it, topping the whole thing with a handful of mushrooms.

“You need to remember that, Castiel; it’s valuable information.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow as Gabriel takes a seat in the chair across from him, balancing his plate on his lap and working on wrapping a fair amount of pasta around a fork.

“I don’t like guessing games,” Castiel levels, watching his brother carefully. “Why did you bring me here, Gabriel?” 

“I’m just trying to get you ready for what’s coming,” Gabriel ignores his question, instead standing to retrieve a salt shaker.

“The Apocalypse was prevented years ago, while you were still in hiding. There have been plenty of crises since then, but there is no immediate threat to this world at the moment,” Castiel speaks with conviction. It’s been years since he’s seen Gabriel, but every immediate threat or problem that had crossed their path had been dealt with, most recent of which had been escaping Purgatory. Castiel hates to think that Gabriel might be aware of something he and Winchester’s were not. If he was being honest with himself, he was content with their return to a simple hunt-to-hunt style of business. It was nice not to have the end of the world hovering over their heads.

“I’m not talking about the Apocalypse,” 

“Is there a crisis to be dealt with, then?” Castiel leans forward in his chair, watching as Gabriel takes his time in twirling the pasta around his fork, studying it as he speaks.

“Castiel, you’re in danger.”

“I’m fine,” The words are almost a reflex, but Gabriel narrows his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you can’t feel the difference in your grace.”

Castiel stiffens, hands curling to fists by his sides. “My grace is fine.”

“Is that why you leveled part of a national forest earlier today?” Gabriel scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Castiel, every angel on the planet could feel that explosion… I’ve been trying to keep the bloodhounds off your scent all afternoon.”

“It was involuntary,” Castiel defends himself. “My grace was protesting the initiation of my Fall.”

“Your Fall?” Gabriel laughs but it’s a harsh sound, not a humorous one. “You poor bastard. Is that what Joshua told you he did?” 

Castiel blinks, searching the arch-angels face for any signs of deception; there’s nothing that hints his brother may be lying.

“Joshua came to me, he-” Castiel tries to speak but Gabriel cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“He really didn’t tell you?” 

“No.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Gabriel wonders. “Anything that seemed out of the ordinary?”

“No,” Castiel hesitates, Joshua’s heavy voice floating in the back of his mind. “Well… Yes. Before he departed, he said ‘May God help you,’” 

Gabriel nods gravely at the new information, rubbing his jaw as he stares thoughtfully at his shoes. When he next looks at Castiel, there’s something very severe about his expression.

“Castiel, you need to listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you,” Gabriel speaks slowly, a rarity in his usually excited personality. “There’s nothing good about what I have to say, and I doubt your reaction will be much more pleasant, but… Just hear me out before you go flapping off, alright?”

Castiel nods, allowing him to continue.

“When Joshua touched you, he gave you something… It’s as good as a parasite, and the explosion was your grace trying to expel the thing before it could latch on. Didn’t work, but it was a valiant effort… I, uh...”

Gabriel trails off, seeming at loss for words, and Castiel is suddenly acutely aware of every molecule of his being. What Gabriel suggested might explain the electric pulses crawling across his skin; if something was tearing away at his grace, it would be untethered, nothing more than a leaking faucet of energy.

“How do you know?” Castiel manages after a moment. He stares at the far wall, trying to decide if he’s in shock.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” Gabriel shrugs, shameless. “And I’ve been around a long time. The thing inside of you, it, uh… It gives off a certain energy that’s, uh… It’s hard to ignore. I felt it in the explosion,”

“What will it do to me?” Castiel can barely hear his own voice, isn’t sure how he’s managing to string together cognizant thought.

“It will kill you,” Gabriel is blunt. “It will feed off your grace until it’s strong enough to be self-sufficient, but… Instead of breaking away with its own vessel, it will just… Consume yours.”

Castiel stares at Gabriel, waiting for something more; some secret information that would help him survive, or a punch-line for this awful joke. Nothing comes.  
“You mean to tell me that it will become me?”

“It will destroy you,” Gabriel corrects somberly. “It will take all of your grace, and when there’s nothing left it will… Well, it’ll use your vessels materials to form its own,”

“Altered matter,” Castiel echoes distantly, and Gabriel nods slowly. It’s the first law of the universe and angels know it better than anyone; it would make sense that the parasite would be incapable of building its own vessel without taking the matter from somewhere else. Castiel stands, the need to move overcoming him. He’s practically vibrating.

“Castiel?” Gabriel tries. 

“How long until the process is complete?” Castiel questions.

“You’ve got eight months at the most… As many angels as you’ve got on your tail – and as weak as that bugger will make you…. I’d give you four.”

“I only have four months to live,” Castiel echoes, running his fingers through his hair in a habit he vaguely recalls he’d picked up from Dean. “I need to tell Sam and Dean, I need to prepare them.”

“You’re dying, and all your first thought is about the Winchesters?” Gabriel glares from his chair. “Have a little concern for yourself for once, Castiel. You may not be human, but you can at least try to think like one.”

“What purpose would that serve?” Castiel snaps in reply, turning on his brother. 

“I don’t know, man, but… It’s not a crime to be a little selfish,” Gabriel’s tone is just as harsh, and Castiel takes a breath, measuring his next words a bit more carefully.

“When I’m gone, the Winchester’s will be left to clean up the mess. Of course they are my first thought,” The angel reasons. Gabriel sighs, shaking his head. He’s quiet a moment, staring at his pasta where it lies on the arm of his chair.

“How are you going to tell them?” The archangel probes. 

“I won’t,” Castiel shrugs. “Not until I have to.” 

“That’s healthy,” Gabriel snorts.

“Dean escaped Purgatory,” Castiel crosses his arms over his chest, watching his brother. “And Sam got his brother back. All of this less than six months ago. Who am I to put something like this in front of them when they are on the brink of happiness?” 

“Castiel,” Gabriel sounds exasperated. “If anyone knows how to cheat death, it’s the Winchester’s, okay? I have never seen anyone survive what you are going through, not since the beginning of time, but… If anyone might be able to help you do it, it’s them.”

“Their knowledge of angel’s is nothing in comparison to yours,” Castiel counters and Gabriel says nothing. After a pause, the lesser angel adds, “Why would you find me if you did not want to help me?”

“I want to help, Castiel. Dad knows you’re the only one of our siblings I don’t hate, but… I don’t know how much I can do.” Gabriel stands, facing his brother.

“But you’ll try,” Castiel pushes, and Gabriel tosses his head back, exhaling harshly through his nostrils. 

“I will do my best,” The archangel says after a moment, straightening his posture and meeting his brother’s gaze. Castiel nods, satisfied, and Gabriel reaches out a hand, gripping Castiel’s shoulder almost too tightly. “But if you die, it’s not on me.”


End file.
